born into a tiny prison
bred to taste good with lemon
at birth torn away from their mother
killed then bones fed to each other
a living production line
the red parts go well with wine
born to be killed by a motor
eaten up by a fat gloater
shat out in a public toilet
given less chance of living than full clip russian roulett
no chance to learn more than how to groan
before its fate is clearly shown
all around others dispear
as the meat grinder shifts its grinding gears
all around chefs chop and cut
as innocent life is treated less than a legless mut
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem